Vahan
by TheCauldron
Summary: Dumbledore thinks he will rescue Harry from his terrible family, setting himself up as Harry's mentor. Unfortunately for him, somebody else got there first. BAMF!Harry, M for violence, language, child abuse, drug use, and all around criminal shenanigans.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This story will be irregularly updated since I'm focusing on NaNoWriMo and assorted other real life... things. But fear not, loyal (and not so loyal) readers! This tale shall (eventually) be completed! One day. Probably. (Definitely)**

**Prologue**

Harry refused to react to the pain as the hunting knife was buried into his thigh. Bastard was quick, he'd give him that, but he'd be damned if he would give the fucker the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt the vengeful teen. Stepping quickly to the side, Harry slashed up with his own blade, disembowelling his opponent and removing the poor fools hand in the same movement. The blood splashed over him, arterial spray adding to his already demonic visage and trickling down his lightning bolt scar.

Glancing around the hallway, he took a moment to appreciate the pure artistry that went into the corpse strewn carpet and blood soaked walls. Fifteen men dead – butchered, really, since there wasn't a single one intact - and Harry's only wound was the knife still in his thigh. He smiled wolfishly and flicked the blood from his ninjato.

He paused to listen against the door at the end of the hallway. Two men, and Abby. Well now, time for some drama to drive the message home, just in case the carnage behind him wasn't clear enough. His emerald green eyes glowed with anticipation as he raised his hand.

He knocked politely.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: No money made, no copyright infringement intended. Due credit to the appropriate places and people.**

**Chapter 1**

Harry Potter was a small child. He wore threadbare second hand clothes that were so large they dwarfed his tiny frame, and had round glasses that didn't actually fix his eyesight, held together with tape. He was thin, some might even say scrawny, and had a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead; the result of the car crash that had killed his parents, he had been told. His hair was black and constantly messy regardless of his attempts to tame it, and his eyes a startling luminescent green that had old ladies cooing and teenaged girls pouting in envy.

Harry Potter was five years old.

He was a very smart child, unusually so, able to put together the most basic information and see patterns in things that other people seemed to overlook. He learned quickly, and never needed to be told something twice. He learned at a young age to keep his intelligence hidden, and to never appear smarter than his cousin, Dudley. Unfortunately Dudley was denser than reinforced concrete, with about as much personality, so Harry found it easiest to stay silent. His relatives seemed to prefer that anyway.

His Aunt Petunia and her husband, Vernon Dursley, didn't like him very much. He lived in the cupboard under the stairs, and was often refused food or basic hygiene facilities, even though he worked very hard with his cooking, cleaning, and gardening, trying to be a Good Boy like his cousin, who never had to do _any_ chores, let alone the physically demanding ones assigned to Harry. He had yet to succeed.

"Boy!" His aunt shrieked, banging on the door to his cupboard. "Get up!"

Harry quickly straightened his oversized clothes to the best of his ability, and slipped out into the hall, following his aunt's tall and thin figure into the kitchen. Without a word, he began cooking. He did this every morning; he also cooked lunch, and dinner. If he was lucky, he was allowed to eat some of it.

Serving the food, Harry turned and began cleaning the kitchen without a word of acknowledgement from his family. He was so used to it, that it barely even stung any more.

Today was grocery day.

Aunt Petunia bundled Dudley into his thick woollen coat, straining to do it up over the obese child's girth. Harry was carelessly tossed a thin jumper that Dudley had outgrown. It was so huge that it came halfway down his shins when he put it on, but he didn't mind, it was one more layer that he wasn't normally given. Rolling up the sleeves, Harry waited patiently while Dudley had his usual tantrum and was bribed with all manner of new toys, before they could finally leave.

Harry hated it when Dudley came shopping with them.

Aunt Petunia decided as usual that Harry could wait outside, ignoring the snow and lack of suitable clothing on the tiny boy, while she and 'Precious Duddikins' did the shopping.

Shivering, Harry looked around for somewhere he could wait out of the wind. It was biting cold and his ungloved fingers were already turning blue. He knew the store owners didn't like him standing out the front since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told everyone that Harry was mentally disturbed, a criminal in the making, and definitely not to be trusted. Harry was none of these things of course, but it wasn't like anyone would believe _him._

Huddling miserably in an alley, Harry fought to stop shivering. The snow had gotten into his shoes through the holes, and he couldn't feel his toes.

"Well now, look what we've got 'ere!"

Harry looked up, his blurred vision quickly taking in the people standing in front of him. His eyes flicked over them, assessing, recording, absorbing as much detail as possible.

The boy who had spoken would have been in his mid-teens, his messily cropped blond hair flopping limply onto a sickly pale forehead. Pale blue eyes were hidden behind sleepy looking lids, but they shone with sly intelligence. His clothes were ratty and worn, but in better condition than Harry's, fitting his wiry form fairly well. There was another boy about the same age, with dark brown curly hair and slightly darker skin, and two younger children. The boy looked to be around ten and looked a lot like the first teen, while the girl would have been about seven and had curly red hair to her shoulders and sparkling hazel eyes. Harry thought she was very pretty, some long forgotten memory stirring slightly in the dark recesses of his mind.

Harry shuffled closer to the wall, trying to make himself inconspicuous.

"Oi, 'sall right kid. We won't hurt ya none. Name's Mike. There 'ere is Dave," he indicated the other teen, "Mickey," the boy, "and Sally. What's ya name then?"

Harry peered up at them hesitantly. "Boy. Freak." He shrugged.

Mike's face softened with sympathy. "Ya need somewhere to stay? 'S a mite cold to stay on the streets this time 'o year."

Harry pondered this for a moment. He really didn't like living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but he didn't really have anywhere else to go. "M-my Aunt and Uncle…" He trailed off. His teeth were chattering so hard he couldn't talk even if he wanted to.

Crouching down in front of him, Mike placed a finger under his chin, lifting his head up so he could see Harry's face clearly. His eyes roamed over Harry's features critically. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it, and he smiled slightly. Harry didn't miss that the smile didn't reach his eyes. "They the ones that call ya Freak?"

Harry nodded.

"Well that just won't do. Pretty boy like you should be looked after the right way. Ya could make some real money with a face like yours. Them eyes'll bring in a few regulars I reckon. Come on, let's get ya somewhere warm, aye?"

Harry barely thought about it. These boys had been nice to him, the nicest anyone had ever been, and he was so cold he could barely see through the vibrations of his teeth chattering. Standing, he followed his new friends down the alley without a second thought.

* * *

><p>Harry looked around the building. It was a small abandoned warehouse, filled with assorted boxes, crates, and a table with lots of chemicals and complicated looking equipment against the far wall. There was a walkway creating a small second level, with an office off to one side.<p>

The older boys threw themselves onto a ratty old couch, while Mickey and Sally curled up on a small stained mattress, wrapping a blanket around their shoulders and huddling together.

Harry stood, shuffling awkwardly.

"'S alright, kid. Already said we ain't gonna hurt ya none." Mike grabbed a baggie from under the couch and started fiddling with it, rolling something into a white tube that he twisted at the ends. He noticed Harry watching, and shot him a grin. "Want some?" He lit the joint, then held it out in offering.

Harry was trembling, uncertain, but he didn't want to disappoint his new friends. Taking it, he tried to mimic Mike's drag, only to double over coughing at the burning in his throat.

The others laughed loudly, except for Sally who simply smiled shyly.

Their laughter died down a little when Harry staggered, knocking over a crate and spilling its contents.

"Oi! Watch it!" Dave yelped, leaping up.

Harry panicked, and tried to straighten the box so he could repack it. He fought tears, kicking himself for messing everything up already.

"Calm down, kid. Ain't the end of the world, just gotta be careful, right? We're just holding these for some mates, 'fore they get sold. Can't sell 'em if they're wrecked now, can we? An' the sorta people who buy these, well, they ain't the sort you wanna upset. Understand?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

Dave pursed his lips thoughtfully as he watched Harry carefully repack the rifles into the crate. It was clear he couldn't see properly, but despite that, his movements were unusually precise, especially for someone so young.

"You ever handled a weapon before, kid?" Dave refused to call him Boy or Freak. His own family had used such monikers when his homosexuality had been revealed – before he'd run away - and he had a strong aversion to using the same words to describe a kid who actually seemed pretty sweet.

Harry shook his head, keeping his eyes low and repacking the crate as quickly as he could manage.

Dave took possession of the last rifle, resting on one knee so Harry could stand close and see.

"This is a Vahan assault rifle. It's Armenian, like me," he smiled. "Not as popular or reliable as an AK47, but it's cheap and we can move enough of them to make it worthwhile." Dave showed Harry how it worked, letting him hold it, and teaching him how to dismantle, reassemble, load, and aim. He admitted to being very impressed at how quickly Harry picked it up, earning him a beaming smile in return. Harry could recite the complete run down of the weapon without Dave having to repeat it even once. Kid was a freaking genius.

Mike just watched in amusement, smoking his joint and relaxing. He had big plans for this kid.

* * *

><p>The afternoon passed pleasantly. Harry discovered that Dave was an incredibly patient teacher, and Harry delighted in learning as much as possible to please his new friends and mentor. By the time night fell, Harry knew all about several different firearms, had cleaned and sharpened all of their knives (a useful skill gained courtesy of his aunt and uncle), and had learned how to take a hit from the apparently never ending supply of joints without hacking up a lung. He wasn't sure if he liked the floaty feeling they gave him, but his new friends seemed pleased, and he was warm and felt welcome for the first time he could remember.<p>

"Alrigh', time for you kids to earn ya keep. Come on." Mike stood as night fell. Leaving Dave behind, he ushered Harry, Mickey and Sally out the door, and down the alleys until they stood in a seedy looking area.

Harry was a little unsure what was happening, but followed his usual rule of keeping his mouth shut and doing what he was told.

Mike plucked the glasses from Harry's face. "Criminal to keep those beautiful eyes hidden, kid. An' you don' really need to see anyway. I'll give 'em back later."

Harry nodded silently. He still wasn't certain about what was going on, and he had a bad feeling that he wasn't going to like it, but even if he wanted to run, he wouldn't get far without his glasses. It never occurred to him that Mike might have taken them for that exact reason.

Harry watched as Mike talked with a blurry shape that looked vaguely like an older man. The man seemed to look over Harry, Mickey and Sally, then gestured to Sally with a negligent wave. He handed some money to Mike, then took the young girl further into the alley.

Harry couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear perfectly well. The man was doing to Sally what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did once a month. He could hear her whimpering in pain, and the man grunting, and Harry felt sick, the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to help her, but what could he do against a fully grown man? And besides, Mike had said that they needed to earn their keep; apparently this was how they would be doing it. Trembling, Harry looked towards Mike, who was negotiating with another man.

* * *

><p>Harry sat gingerly on the stained mattress. His bottom hurt, and his jaw ached so much he wasn't sure he would be able to eat the warm food that Mike was passing around. He felt dirty and miserable.<p>

Dave settled next to him, leaning back against the crates. His dark brown eyes showed his concern.

"You alright, kid? I know it can be a bit rough, especially the first time."

Harry swallowed gingerly and nodded, his eyes downcast.

"Here." Dave took away the take away cup of soft drink and handed him a cup of cool water.

Drinking gingerly, Harry was relieved to find the pain in his throat easing slightly.

Dave continued to observe him carefully. "If your life is better at home, then you should go back. Life on the streets is hard, even with people like me 'n' Mike looking out for you. This ain't a life to choose if you've got another choice."

Harry kept his eyes downcast and continued eating silently. He doubted he could speak above a whisper at the moment anyway.

Dave sighed. "Alright. Get some rest. Tomorrow I'll teach you some more stuff." He patted Harry's bony shoulder lightly, and shuffled off into the office that had been converted into a bedroom for himself and Mike.

* * *

><p>When he wasn't earning his keep or sleeping, Harry stuck to Dave like glue.<p>

The older boy was always happy to teach Harry something new, and Harry absorbed it like a sponge. He was given clothes to replace Dudley's cast offs, ones that actually fit him decently, and he had started to gain a little weight from the regular meals the older boys provided him. There wasn't a lot, and it wasn't good quality, but it was more than he was used to and so he decided that staying with his new friends was worth the unpleasantness he experienced each night. He didn't like it, hated it in fact, but at least he was warm and fed, and they didn't smack him around. Well worth the price, in his opinion.

It had been a month since he joined his friends, give or take, and Harry was now rather skilled in his new life. He assisted Dave in his drug manufacturing – able to make meth, crack, and speed (though the fumes made him feel sick even with the mask) – and was also a rather accomplished thief and pickpocket.

Mike was thrilled, but Dave looked at him with a mixture of pride and sadness that Harry found unsettling. Regardless, he continued to use his new skills to make himself as valuable to the older boys as possible.

Dave looked after all the kids as best he could, giving them lessons each day on how to read and write, basic mathematics, and any other useful skill he could think of. All the kids adored him, but none so much as Harry. The green eyed boy was devoted to the teen, following him around and hanging on his every word. Harry stored everything away, every word and action from the older boy locked into the Harry's mental vault, deliberately mulled over and integrated. Day by day, Dave unknowingly shaped his quiet shadow, the tiny boy's hero worship amusing his companions.

Harry and Dave were sitting on the walkway in the warehouse with their legs dangling over the edge, leaning forward on the railing, sharing a joint. Dave was unusually chatty, and Harry was his usual silently attentive self.

"I hate it, you know? The whorin' of you kids. Makes me so fuckin' mad. Mike an' me should be doing it, not you lil' uns. Fuckin' sicko's touching you. So many fuckin' kids working the streets, an' it ain't right. I know it makes good money an' all, but I wish…" he trailed off, taking another lungful. "I wish there was someone who looked out for you guys better than me an' Mike. If it was up to me, I'd have you kids doin' other stuff, find you some yard work or somethin', or even just the stealin'. But Mike's the boss, and it's his call." He gazed off into the distance. "You're a good kid, you know. Those relatives of yours don't know what they had with you. You promise me something, kid – we really need to get you a proper name, by the way, it's already been a bloody month – when you're all grown up an' can look afta' yourself, you keep an eye out for kids like you an' Mickey an' Sally, and you look after 'em, make sure they don't need to be whorin'. You're a smart kid. You keep your eyes open and learn from people bigger an' tougher than you, an' you learn how to keep yourself an' other kids safe. If anyone can, it'd be you. Don't make the same mistakes as me, you hear? Gotta be a leader, not a follower."

Harry listened intently to Dave's rant. Dave had always looked after them, but he thought he wasn't doing enough, because he wasn't the boss? Harry stewed over this for a while. If Dave wanted him to do better than Dave did, then the only way he could see to do that was to _be_ the boss, so he got to make the decisions like Mike did. But Mike was tough. Really tough. And mean too, when he needed to be. He treated the kids ok, but Harry knew he didn't really care about them. He got into fights all the time, and he usually won. Harry had seen him knife some guy who was trying to move in on their territory the other night. So that meant that if Harry was going to look after kids better than Dave, Harry would have to be tougher and meaner than everyone else around him so that nobody would challenge him. But how? He was a tiny kid, he didn't know how to fight, and he couldn't intimidate a flea, let alone a grown up. So then how?

Dave watched Harry puzzling through what he'd said. "Start small, kid. You're still a little'un yourself. If you wanna be the boss man when you're grown up, then you've gotta live long enough to _be_ a grown up first. Do what you gotta, no matter how much it hurts or makes you scared or sad, and learn from the people around you. You don't gotta play with the big boys yet. Start local, one step at a time. Watch the kids your age an' see what they do to win against other kids. Then figure out how you can beat them. You're smart, you can do it. Just remember, there is always someone tougher and scarier than you, someone who is willing to go further just to win. When you meet someone like that, watch, learn, and study 'til you can beat 'em. 'Cos when you think you're the biggest badass and stop learning, you'll get yourself killed, and then who's gonna look afta' the kids? You've always gotta go one step further than the other guy, make your victory clear and undeniable. You don't always gotta use brute force, either. You don't need to be a thug, but you _do_ have to be able to defend yourself. Use your head when you can, and your fists to keep your head safe."

Whenever Harry was to think back on that conversation later, he would always wonder if somehow his friend knew that something was going to happen to him. There was no outward sign, of course, but Dave had always seemed to _know_ things, so Harry wouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, Harry was grateful to the older boy, and treasured his advice with a devotion bordering on fanaticism. After all, the advice kept him alive.

The door to the warehouse slid open, and six men in cheap suits entered.

Dave stiffened, and motioned for Harry to hide, while he himself crossed the walkway and made his way down the stairs on the opposite wall.

Mike was already squaring up to the men, bristling.

"I already told ya! We ain't working for ya! We got our contracts, an' we ain't gonna stiff 'em to work for a pittance from you!"

Harry stuffed his fist in his mouth to stifle his scream when a bored looking man to the right of the leader pulled a handgun from inside his jacket and shot Mike in the chest without a word.

Mike fell with a thud and a surprised look, blood blooming on his white shirt like an obscene flower. He coughed once, spitting up blood, before laying still.

Harry stared in shock from his hiding place behind the current load of gun crates. He watched Dave shout as he ran down the stairs on the opposite wall, only to take a bullet in the gut and fall the last few steps with a sickening crack. His neck was on an odd angle, and he didn't move, though he was awake and watching in horror.

Harry heard screams, and watched as Sally and Mickey were grabbed and dragged out of the warehouse. A distant part of his mind registered the remaining men saying something about the other boy, which he dimly realised must be him, but he couldn't move past the view of Dave laying there, painfully still.

_One step further. Clear and undeniable victory._

Harry bit back a whimper as he saw the men start to spread out and look for him. Glancing back at Dave's prone form, he made his decision.

Grabbing one of the Vahan rifles from the crate he was hiding behind, he loaded it with quick fingers. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he army crawled to the edge of the walkway, set his sights, and opened fire.

The recoil hurt his shoulder, and the shots were startlingly loud, but Harry refused to let that stop him. Firing off short bursts, he was surprised at how quickly his four opponents went down, blood pouring from multiple wounds on each of them. He was even more surprised when they didn't get up again.

He paused, watching them carefully. They had already shown they would hurt people, and Harry wasn't willing to give them the opportunity to hurt anyone else, especially not him. They'd had no mercy, so Harry would give them none.

When they didn't move for several moments, Harry began to scuttle carefully around the walkway. Dave had always told him to take any advantage offered, and when in doubt, keep moving.

Harry cradled his rifle as he scooted around the walls and down the stairs to Dave.

Dave's breathing was laboured, but he was awake. Harry placed the rifle to his side, easily reached if any of the suited men moved. He looked down at Dave's pained face, tears starting to leak down his cheeks.

"Oi, no tears kid. Nothin' wrong with crying, but never let anyone see you do it, not if you're gonna be the biggest badass around. In our world, tears are a weakness you can't be seen t' have, got me?" Dave's voice was soft, softer than Harry had ever heard.

Harry nodded and wiped his eyes, shoving his feeling down into that part of his mind that he locked away each night that he earned his keep. He would deal with it later, when he was alone, just like Dave had taught him.

A slight scuffling from one of the suited men had Harry grabbing up the rifle and unloading a round directly between the man's eyes. The tiny boy seemed oblivious to the unusual skill and accuracy he had just displayed, his focus already returned to his fallen mentor.

"Reckon we got a name for you now, kid." Dave's eyes lingered on the rifle near his head. "You know what Vahan means in Armenian?" Harry shook his head silently. "Means shield. Just like you'll be for the other kids when you're grown, right?" Harry nodded. He knew Dave was saying goodbye. There was too much blood and he wasn't moving, his neck visibly broken. "A shield can be a weapon too, you know. Depends which side of it you stand on." His breath was getting laboured, his skin pale and clammy, but he managed a small smile for the little boy. "Go back to your relatives, kid. Get yourself big, and remember what I taught you, yeah? An' no matter what those meat sacks tell you, you're special, but that don't make you a freak. Don't let 'em break you. Every time they try, it'll just make you stronger. You're a good kid, Vahan. You're gonna go far, an' do me proud."

Harry sat silent as Dave stopped talking and his eyes went dull. He knew he was gone, he'd seen that same look on the guy Mike had knifed, but he couldn't bring himself to move just yet. He felt cold, like everything around him was moving too slowly and too fast at the same time.

It wasn't until he heard the shuffle of feet near the door that he roused himself. Grabbing the rifle, he slipped through the door to the room that Mike and Dave shared. Had shared. Grabbing Dave's ratty backpack, he disassembled the rifle in record time and wrapped the pieces in a cloth, stuffing it in the bag. A handful of knives and a handgun, a couple of boxes of ammo and a sharpening stone joined it, and Harry looked around for anything else. Spying the tin Mike kept the money in, he grabbed that too, struggling to zip the bulging bag closed.

He could hear cops entering the building now, so he shimmied out the tiny window and bolted as quickly as he could, navigating the back alleys with ease. His activities the last month had given him excellent local knowledge and sense of direction, both of which he employed now to evade the uniforms swarming his former home.

As he made his way back to the hated Dursley's, he kept replaying Dave's words over in his mind, committing them to heart indelibly. And with them, the name he had been given by the one person he could recall ever actually caring about him. The name he would spend every moment of his life living up to. No matter what anyone else called him, he had only one real name.

_Vahan._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Eight year old Harry sat under the tree in the school playground, watching Dudley beating a small boy. He felt a little bad for the kid, but not enough to intervene at this point. Instead, he used the opportunity to examine how Dudley moved, what moves he favoured, and where his weaknesses lay. It was a rare opportunity; usually he was the one receiving the beating at the fat bully's hands, which made accurate observation a tad difficult.

_Right handed. Favours a left hook, right uppercut combo while opponent is standing. Right jab for prone victim. Prefers to have support of three or more, less likely to attack if alone. Powerful hit but slow movement. Low intelligence, collective and individual. Most effective strategy: quick strikes and fast dodging, keep him off balance. Best him in front of his gang to achieve collective dominance. Future use: muscle outsourcing, distribution, intimidation._

Harry didn't move from his place, keeping watch over the small boy and ignoring the fleshy thuds of fists impacting tenderized flesh. The kid would be scared and bruised, but it was unlikely any permanent damage would be done. Harry allowed himself to drift a little mentally, keeping only enough attention to his surroundings to let him know if the beating took a step up, or if his own position was compromised.

He'd been dreaming about Dave again last night. The older boy had been sitting with him on the walkway, just like their last conversation. The topic of conversation was different this time though, and hadn't ended in gunfire and death, which was a pleasant change.

Dream Dave had told him that it was time to start his Work. He'd had three years to prepare, and Harry was as ready as he could be to take his first steps down the path Dave had set him on.

_Baby steps. _

Harry shifted slightly. He was as prepared as he could be for this venture. After leaving the warehouse to return to the Dursley's, he'd stashed his bag in one of the hidey holes he'd found at Dave's direction, and had been slowly adding to it, collecting everything of use he could get his hands on. He'd trained himself as best he could in combat tactics and techniques from books and videos at the library, and had practiced the movements until they were as natural as breathing. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. All he needed now was a field test; which considering he was self-taught, he expected to be thoroughly painful.

The departure of Dudley's gang drew his attention, and he waited patiently until they were out of sight before moving towards the crying boy they had left on the ground. Crouching down out of arms reach, Harry waited patiently for the boy to notice him.

When the boy's sniffles hitched slightly, Harry tilted his head to the side, observing.

"Do you need to see the nurse?" His voice was quiet, soothing.

The boy sniffled again and nodded.

"Do you want me to help you get there?" Harry hadn't moved closer, well aware that many other children were afraid of approaching him because of Dudley's gang responding brutally to any attempts made.

The boy nodded once more, and Harry shifted forward to help the child up. The boy would have been a year or two younger, but Harry's state of permanent malnutrition had left him a similar height. Taking advantage of that, Harry slung the boy's arm over his shoulder and locked his own around the boy's waist, taking most of the weight off the boy's injured leg.

The boys slowly made their way to the nurse's office, where the older woman immediately began clucking over the injured child. When she turned to shoo Harry away, the younger boy looked up.

"Please miss, can my friend stay with me?"

Harry didn't allow his surprise to show, simply standing quietly in the corner.

The nurse was not so restrained, her eyebrows rising. As far as she was aware, the scruffy boy in the corner didn't have any friends, and the other children actively shunned him. Not that she could blame them, there was something unsettling about his cold green stare. There was nothing childlike in that gaze.

"If you want, dear. I'll be right back, I just need to get something from the other room." She bustled out, leaving the boys alone.

"I'm Daniel Andrews. Thanks for helping me."

Harry nodded slightly. "Harry Potter, and you're welcome. You might want to be careful about claiming me as a friend though. Dudley and his goons tend to target people near me."

Daniel frowned. "Why?"

"He's my cousin. I live with him and his parents, and they dislike me." Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

Daniel frowned again. "Why?"

Smiling faintly, Harry tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Don't know, it's just the way things are. For the moment at least. I'll be dealing with Dudley soon."

The younger boy looked Harry over silently for a moment. "You aren't scared of him."

Harry shook his head negatively but stayed silent.

Tilting his bruised face inquisitively, Daniel eyed him intently, as if trying to see past the oversized clothes and bad glasses to the person underneath.

"You remind me of my brother."

Harry quirked an eyebrow silently.

"You hold yourself the same, and your eyes are the same. He's really nice to people, mostly, but he's really scary if you get on his bad side."

Harry kept his expression bland and his gaze locked on Daniel.

"I reckon Dudley is going to be in for a bad time when you make your move. And I think I'd rather be on your good side. Do you _want_ to be friends?" Daniel looked unsure of his welcome, but his pleading brown eyes and dark wavy hair reminded Harry of Dave, and he found himself smirking lightly.

"If you want. I can't promise I'll be a good one though, I've never really had a friend before."

Daniel's face lit up. "That's ok! Like my mum says, I'm sure we can muddle through."

Harry grinned, but quickly blanked his face and sank back into himself when the nurse returned with an icepack.

* * *

><p>A few days later found Harry under the same tree, idly watching the other children playing. He acknowledged Daniel's approach with a slight twitch of his head, but otherwise didn't react as the boy flopped down next to him.<p>

"Here." Daniel dropped a sandwich and apple in Harry's lap.

Harry frowned, watching the other boy out of the corner of his eye. "Um, thanks?"

"I thought you might be hungry. Dudley's really fat, but you're really thin, and you said your relatives didn't like you, and I've never seen you eat at school. You're probably fine, but I thought I'd bring some extra, just in case. If you don't need it, that's fine, but friends look after each other, so…" He trailed off uncomfortably, panting slightly from forcing his ramble out in a single breath.

Harry forced himself not to shift uncomfortably. "You're very observant."

Daniel grinned. "Yeah. Mum and Dad used to read me Sherlock Holmes books when I was smaller, and I got interested in the whole deductive observation and reasoning thing. I'm really smart too - gifted."

Harry mulled this over for a few moments. "Gifted? Is that like a genius or something?"

Daniel nodded, chewing his own apple. "Yeah, something like that. I'm not sure where the exact line is between the two, never bothered to look it up."

"Is that why you don't talk like a normal kid?"

Swallowing, Daniel grinned. "Probably. And I read a lot, but kid's books are boring. You're smarter than you let on too, I can tell."

Harry watched Daniel watch him for a few moments, then picked up the sandwich. "Interesting."

* * *

><p>Harry was running. Dudley and his lackeys had started a game of Harry Hunting, and Harry was using the opportunity to get in some speed training. He hadn't dealt with Dudley yet, but he would have to do that soon, this was getting ridiculous.<p>

His uncle had beaten him last night, and his ribs and leg were screaming in pain, but he refused to let himself falter. He'd need to find somewhere safe soon though, he couldn't keep this up for long. He jumped over a fallen garbage can, frantically thinking of where he could hide long enough to escape and rest. A tight squeezing feeling wrapped itself around him, crushing the air from his lungs, before releasing just as quickly as it appeared.

Harry stumbled and blinked in surprise. How the hell did he get on the roof?

Shaking off that thought for the moment, and focusing on the more pressing issue, Harry crouched, peering cautiously over the edge and down at Dudley and his gang. Their angry shouts at his disappearance brought a smirk to his face, and he absently noted that none of them had seen how he got up here. Now if only _he_ could figure out how he did it, and maybe do it again when he _wanted_ to, he would have quite the handy little trick up his sleeve.

* * *

><p>The next day, Daniel grabbed Harry as soon as they found each other at recess.<p>

"You're a wizard!" He hissed.

Harry blinked, confused. He usually had no trouble following Daniel's somewhat scattered thought processes, but this was a bit left field, even for him.

"What?"

Daniel dragged him further away from the other children, tucking them into a quiet corner of the playground.

"I saw you Apparate yesterday! Onto the roof! It's ok, I'm one too. When you said your name was Harry Potter, I didn't know you were _that_ Harry Potter!"

Harry frowned, confused and irritated. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Daniel peered at him for a moment before his eyes widened. "You really don't know? But, you're famous! You stopped You-Know-Who when you were just a baby!"

Harry began edging away slightly, only to be pulled back by his wrist. His eyes flashed in warning but Daniel released his arm before Harry decided to _make_ him.

"Look, I get that you don't believe me. Come over to my place after school and I'll prove it!" Daniel's large brown eyes were pleading, and he sported something suspiciously like a pout.

Harry eyed him warily for a few moments. "Will there be cookies?"

Daniel grinned. "If there aren't, we can make some." His face fell slightly. "What about your relatives? Will they get mad?"

Harry waved dismissively. "They prefer me out of their hair. They'll use it as an excuse to punish me, but they would do that anyway."

That settled, the boys got down to the serious business of enjoying the rest of their recess.

* * *

><p>The Andrews' house was nondescript; a standard unremarkable brick with a small lawn out the front and no garden to speak of. Harry observed it closely, but couldn't see anything unusual about it that might corroborate Daniel's story, or prove him to be a lunatic.<p>

Daniel's mum was a tiny little witch with a wide smile and a face startlingly similar to her son's. She greeted Harry with a warm hug, a plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk.

Her sharp brown eyes swept over the small boy who had befriended her son, and reached some disturbing conclusions. The boy was clearly undernourished, neglected, and possibly physically abused too, judging by the limp he was trying to hide. She listened intently as her son explained that Harry was _the_ Harry Potter, but he didn't know anything about magic.

"Well then, I guess we will start with the basics. You can call me Tammy or Mama Andrews."

Harry nodded politely.

"I'll go get some books, and we can go through them together, alright? Hopefully that will help explain some things."

Bustling away, she returned shortly with a small stack of books which she placed on the table.

"Alright, I think we should start with the one that has you in it."

Harry's eyes widened.

The next three hours were filled with so many surprises that Harry's mind boggled. Finding out that his parents had actually been murdered and that someone called Albus Dumbledore was responsible for putting him with the Dursley's (a simple matter of deductive reasoning that would definitely require further investigation) had him pursing his lips thoughtfully and his eyes growing marginally colder as he pondered the implications. Harry had snorted with laughter at some of the supposed 'facts' about his life. He made a mental note to find out about wizard banking and royalties for using his name. Apparently Harry Potter books and merchandise was rather prolific, and it might possibly provide another (legal) stream of income for him. He'd also been given a brief outline of the main branches of magic.

Harry's head was buzzing.

Magic was real.

Magic was really real, and he was famous.

Exhausted, Harry had gratefully accepted dinner, over which he had met Daniel's older brother Greg, and his father, Captain Nathan Andrews when they returned home from school and work respectively.

The entire family had made him feel welcome, and had informed Harry that he was welcome any time of the day or night. Captain Andrews had made the same assessment as his wife, but didn't miss that the boy already had the hard look in his eyes that Greg had developed after running away and spending a few months on the street. He silently swore that he would do whatever he could to help this kid survive.

* * *

><p>Harry was at the Andrews', happily stuffed full of sandwiches and milk, and critically eyeing the garden beds in the backyard.<p>

"Mama Andrews?"

The woman in question hummed distractedly in response, most of her attention focused on the tangle of wool that was resulting from her attempts to teach herself crochet.

"Your perennial beds are about ready to be prepped and planted. Would you like some help?"

Tammy looked up in confusion. "My what beds are ready for what?"

Harry blinked. "Your garden? It's ready to be weeded and prepped for the perennials. I thought you might like some help."

Tammy stared blankly for a moment. "Ok, I understood garden, and help."

Captain Andrews chuckled as he stepped outside onto the porch to join them. "Harry, for all her beauty and talent, my wife wouldn't know a Primrose from a Daffodil, let alone how to care for them. Our gardens are pretty much left to tend themselves."

Harry looked faintly horrified, triggering another laugh from the older man. "I'm guessing you're a bit of a gardener?"

Harry cleared his throat and carefully rearranged his expression to one of polite neutrality – an act that did not pass unnoticed by the adults. "I do the gardening at my relatives."

The Captain pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Do you enjoy it?"

Shrugging noncommittally, Harry shifted his gaze back to the overrun gardens for a moment, before snapping his gaze back to his scruffy shoes. "I guess." He did, but he wasn't so foolish as to let other people know that. If it got back to the Dursley's they would stop him from doing it in future.

The adults traded a loaded glance, communicating silently.

"You know, many common plants are used in potions. I've always thought it would be a good idea to grow some of my own, I just don't know enough about plants to do it. Would you be interested in doing our gardens? We can talk to your aunt and uncle and arrange for you to come around regularly. We can use the time to teach you more about the Wizarding world while we are at it. What do you think?" Tammy offered.

Harry cringed slightly when she mentioned talking to his relatives, but agreed regardless. "Sure, I can do that. But, um…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "My relatives…"

The Captain placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, ignoring the boy's flinch. "It's alright. We know you have some – issues – at home. What would be the best way to get your relatives to agree?"

Harry looked up, his expression wary. His green eyes roved searchingly over the Captains face, taking in every detail and assessing the man's honesty. Finding nothing alarming, Harry pondered for a moment.

Dave's voice rang in his mind, advising him as always. _You can't rely on anyone but yourself, and you'd be foolish to trust anyone else either. Everyone wants something. But sometimes, your wants and theirs will match up, and if you're lucky, the price of getting it is something you're willing to pay. _

Aside from Daniel, who wanted someone to protect him from bullies, Harry didn't know what the Andrews family wanted from him. But he needed more knowledge about the Wizarding world, and doing some gardening in exchange was a small price to pay for it. He realised that he wasn't going to find out their end game without playing in the short term, so he made his decision.

"You heard my reputation as a juvenile delinquent, and thought you'd do your civic duty by teaching me the value of hard work; straighten me out, military style. If they don't go for that, you may need to offer to pay them for my labour." Harry's face was cold, but he shrugged, his eyes straying back to the plant beds. He really did enjoy gardening.

Captain Andrews nodded. "Play the hardarse, got it."

Harry smirked slightly at the phrasing, casting a sideways glance up at the genial man. He hoped he was there to see that little performance.

* * *

><p>Three weeks of backbreaking labour over afternoons and weekends, and Harry was finished with the gardens. He carefully washed his hands and made sure he was clean enough to enter the house, idling flipping through his mental list of places he could set up his drug lab. He really did need to get a move on with his business.<p>

It bothered him that he had yet to work out what the Andrews wanted, too. They had been as friendly and caring as ever, stuffing him with good food at every opportunity, and teaching him as much as they could about magic and the Wizarding world. He wasn't allowed to cast spells of course, but they had covered the basic theory behind the different branches of magic, as well as discussed the society in general.

Harry thought some of the society stuff was archaic, but dutifully stored it away in his mind. Apparently he would be going to a school called Hogwarts when he turned eleven, and so all of these details would become relevant once he entered that world.

His fame was a matter of interest as well. Harry and Mama Andrews had spent an entire afternoon talking about it, discussing what it would mean for him when he started school, and people's expectations of him as their child hero. They had also discussed his family, and the inherited responsibly that came with being a Potter. Apparently great stock was put in one's blood purity, a fact that made Harry wrinkle his nose in disgust.

The Potter line was considered Pureblood, and until his father had married his mother, a Muggleborn, they had been ridiculously proud of the fact, though they weren't as prejudiced as some of the other old families.

Mama Andrews had gone out of her way to get more information for him, buying some books on things specific to whatever caught his interest. He was particularly keen on the "Official" biography of his life. His fascination had less to do with the completely absurd content, and everything to do with the pictures scattered throughout it. There was a picture of his parents, and he found himself a little choked up, particularly at the picture of his mother.

Wavy red hair, peaches and cream skin, and sparkling green eyes that matched his own. Aside from the eyes, she could have been an older version of Sally. His chest ached at the thought of the shy girl who had sneaked him stolen chocolates and sat quietly with him when he couldn't sleep from the pain after a nights work.

He also diligently worked through books on society and etiquette, and made a point of learning what he could about the most prominent families he was likely to encounter when he started school. It would be foolish to go into such a political situation without knowing who the major players were.

_Do your research, know your territory. If you can possibly avoid it, never go into a situation blind; it will get you killed._

He also developed an interest in potions, seeing the immediate potential for expanding his future drug options into the Wizarding world. He realised that supplying potions into the muggle world would bring down the Aurors onto him in short order, but that didn't mean he couldn't provide them in the Wizarding world. And he could move the muggle drugs in both worlds. He could practically hear the money rolling in already.

Greg had spent some time helping Harry with the heavy lifting in the garden, and the two had become friendly over dirty hands and aching blisters. The older boy had quietly confided about his time on the streets – information Harry had absorbed silently – and offered a non-judgemental ear if Harry ever needed it. A few subtle questions and apparently absent minded comments, and Harry had ascertained that Greg still had a few of his street contacts, and would do the occasional low level job for them to earn some extra cash. The boy was no leader, but he was loyal and canny, and Harry decided that he was just the sort of person he needed to start moving his product.

Two months had passed with the Andrews making excuses to keep Harry at their house as often as possible. The Dursley's were thrilled at the idea that he was being worked to the bone, and happy with the small amount of compensation the Captain provided them.

Harry decided it was time to enact his plan. He was a ready as he would ever be, so he didn't bother going home that night. He ate dinner with the Andrews as usual before making his excuses – explaining that he couldn't come over on the weekend because his relatives wanted him home – then headed out into the night. It wasn't true of course, but he knew the Dursley's wouldn't look for him.

He'd carefully selected a building for his lab, and had set it up with everything he'd need, plus a bit besides. All he needed now was ephedrine. Carefully approaching the fence at the pharmaceutical warehouse he'd been scoping out for weeks, he slipped inside, avoiding the security cameras and guards.

Harry decided he was fortunate to have such a good memory. While he was living with Mike and Dave it had been a mixed blessing, but now he was putting what he learned to good use.

_Use every advantage to achieve your goals, but never trust a person you've blackmailed._

Harry settled himself into the dark corner of the Head of Security's office. He'd already planted the small camera and microphone in the bookshelf, and was now just waiting for his quarry. He used the time to get into character, making himself seem small and vulnerable, shaking from fear. It couldn't be further from the truth of course, but he could have been a professional actor by this stage.

When Harry had spotted the Head of Security and matched the face to one of his former regular clients, he'd nearly cackled at the beautiful coincidence of it. The tall man had softened around the middle to the point that his belly was beginning to hang over his belt and strained the buttons on his shirt. He was sickly pale with a yellow tinge to his skin, and his receding sandy blonde hair feathered over his brow in a way that Harry thought was supposed to look rakish but really just looked like he needed a haircut. His watery grey eyes darted constantly, slightly glazed. Harry was amused when he realised that the man had probably bought more than time with the kids from Mike. Eyeing the ostentatious name plaque – Matthew Peterson – and the overly poncy office, Harry decided that his plan couldn't happen to a more deserving guy.

The man himself returned from his dinner break, keeping to his usual routine of using his Friday evening to catch up on paperwork and killing time before heading to the streets where the kids worked. Harry waited until he was settled at his desk, immersed in his work, before sniffling slightly and shuffling his feet.

Peterson's head shot up, and he zeroed in on the tiny form cringing in the corner.

"Well now, who might you be?" He crooned, moving to crouch in front of the small boy.

Harry looked back with his eyes huge, sniffling again. "T-tiny, sir."

Peterson smiled slightly. "And what are you doing in here, Tiny?"

Harry cringed further into the corner. "H-hiding, sir. I-I was being chased, and I crawled through the fence, a-and then I saw the guards, but the boys chasing me were still there, so I-I hid, and please, please don't tell anyone I'm here!" Harry called forth a few tears, making his large green eyes glisten. Peterson had always liked seeing them shine.

Peterson smiled. "How old are you, Tiny?"

"S-six, sir."

Peterson's smile took a predatory edge. "Well now, Tiny, we have a bit of a problem. See, this is a restricted area, which means you need permission to be in here. And you, you don't have permission." He coaxed Harry out with a hand on his shoulder, steering him into the chair in front of his desk. "So, I'm going to have to turn you in, you understand? You'll be in a lot of trouble for being here."

Harry trembled. "No! Please, no! I'll do anything, don't turn me in, please!" Harry allowed an edge of hysteria to creep into his voice. He twitched a hand forward slightly, before dropping it back into his lap and letting his shoulders droop. He lowered his head, eyes in his lap. "Anything," he whispered.

Peterson leaned against the front of his desk, ankles crossed and arms folded. His eyes drifted hungrily over the shaking boy in front of him. He was a bit bigger than his old favourite, but those eyes and black hair reminded him of the little boy he used to get from Mike. That one had been a real treat, remembering what he liked and doing it without any more complaints than was enjoyable. Really, he had been most upset when the boy had disappeared.

"Alright," he finally spoke. "I'll make you a deal."

Harry looked up, hope shining in his eyes.

"You do me a favour, and I'll do you one by not turning you in, sound fair? But this would be just between us, you mustn't ever tell anyone, otherwise they'll send you to prison for breaking in here."

Harry shuddered and forced a small whimper. He twitched forward again, before cringing back again. Peterson liked the desperation, he remembered. "What," he licked his lips nervously. "What do you want me to do?"

Peterson smirked, uncrossing his legs and moving into his office chair. He leaned back, eyes never leaving the small boy as he shuffled his hips toward the edge of the chair. "Come here."

Harry rose and made his trembling way into arms reach.

"Take off your clothes, and suck me like a lollypop."

Harry sighed mentally. Honestly, couldn't the instructions even be original? The man hadn't changed his script since Harry was five. Steeling himself and letting himself drift into the dissociative state he had perfected on the streets, he got to work.

It had been a long time since he had done this, and he found his body remembered the pain but had not retained the conditioning to cope with it. His jaw was aching by the time he was finally breached, and he bit his lip bloody as he felt himself tear slightly.

He whined and cried as his body was used, and he made sure to wriggle around a little and angle them so that the camera could get clear shots of both their faces; Peterson's in bliss and Harry's streaked with tears. He detested pretending to be so weak.

_Whatever it takes. Play any part, use any tool. _

The mental distance Harry maintained helped him ignore what was happening to him for the moment, but he knew he would have nightmares until he processed it. He had anticipated this, however, and had already stocked his safe house/lab with provisions for the weekend. He'd be in for a rough few days, but all going to plan he would be healed and sufficiently rested for school on Monday.

* * *

><p>Harry printed out a few stills of his little assignation with Peterson from the computer he had set up at his lab. He included a letter from the mysterious but threatening Vahan, a standard blackmailing for a regular supply of ephedrine taken from the warehouse and left in a backpack at a designated location, and stuffed them into an envelope. He didn't expect Peterson to be stupid enough to go to the police, but he wore latex gloves while handing every part of it, just in case. No point taking chances after all.<p>

Everything was in place. He'd obtained a fake identity in the name of John Smith – the most boring name he could think of – which he could use to conduct any business he wasn't old enough to do yet, the lab was set up, and he'd obtained the paperwork to set up a bank account in his fake name and to purchase the property the lab was on. He had the material on Peterson that would obtain him the ephedrine, and he'd purchased a bicycle he could use to transport it from the warehouse to the lab.

_Nobody ever looks twice at a kid on a bike. If you need to move something, that's the way to do it._

A grim smile flitted across his features, and he stood. He had business to conduct.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Harry packaged the last of the current batch of meth, placing the bags neatly in the backpacks for delivery. Over the past several months he had moved a significant amount of product with the assistance of Greg and several of Mike's old contacts. Harry generally preferred to use Greg as a go between – the older boy was surprisingly reliable, but Harry was unwilling to use him exclusively. Eggs, baskets.

The financial rewards had been… Satisfying.

With the assistance of Mr Marcus Bradshaw – a very talented lawyer with less than reputable contacts – Harry (or Mr Smith, rather) had bought the house his lab was in, and had just closed on another small two bedroom apartment. He had every intention of setting up several safe houses in various neighbourhoods, as well as a couple more labs.

Vahan, also, was gaining a reputation. The mysterious man had been responsible for several blackmailing's and thefts, not to mention supply of high quality drugs, and had begun to draw the attention of the bigger figures in the local crime scene. Nothing worrisome yet, but enough that Harry was going to have to stay alert. He had already been marked as "Vahan's boy", and as such had to be on his guard for people who might try to use him to get close to his shadowy "benefactor".

His ninth birthday was approaching soon, and Harry was pondering what to give himself as a gift. He tugged at his ratty sleeves, and wished he could buy himself a new wardrobe. He certainly had the money, but the Dursley's would start asking unfortunate questions if he showed up with new clothes, and might prevent him going to the Andrews. Which was unacceptable since he still hadn't worked out their endgame, and he had business with Greg. It was a pity that there wasn't anyone he could trust who could get custody of him.

He paused.

Actually, there was. He had a perfectly good adult identity with which to conduct all his legal business. Why not custody as well? He had the apartment that he could live in, and more than enough money to live on. And courtesy of the Dursley's and his time on the streets he knew how to look after himself and a household. And it _would_ make his Work easier…

Grinning, Harry removed his protective gear and straightened his clothes. He had a birthday present to arrange.

* * *

><p>Harry was sitting in the darkened office of Bradshaw and Cohen, flicking through the contents of an envelope he had found on the desk. He'd broken in with the intention of rifling through the office files before approaching Mr Bradshaw in person, but the envelope was much more interesting than the dry files he'd found in the filing cabinet.<p>

Mr Bradshaw was a principled criminal lawyer. His extensive network of shady contacts was used freely, but he took his professionalism seriously and protected his clients' interests with vicious dedication. His reputation in that regard was part of why Harry had hired him in the first place. But now it had gotten the man in trouble.

According to the letter enclosed with the pictures of a pretty brunette woman and a little boy with reddish brown hair and a cheeky smile, Mr Bradshaw was required to hand over information on how to find one of his clients to ensure his family's safe return.

A terrifying situation for the unfortunate man, to be sure, but Harry saw it as an opportunity.

His lazy perusal was interrupted by the light flicking on and a startled expletive from the handsome redhead in the doorway.

"Jesus, kid, you scared the daylights out of me!"

The man puttered around the office, stowing his briefcase and turning on the fancy coffee maker. His leanly muscled form highlighted perfectly by his suit. With his aristocratic features and perfectly groomed appearance, the tall man cut an imposing figure.

Harry was impressed and slightly amused to note that despite his casual actions, the man never fully turned his back to the small boy reclining in his chair with his feet on the desk.

Finally finished his morning ritual, the man visibly gave his guest his full attention, though Harry was aware that he'd actually had it the entire time. A tactic he'd seen Mike and Dave use many times. Even the Captain used it occasionally.

"So, how can I help you?"

Harry gave the man points for not treating him like a stupid kid.

"My business can wait for the moment. Right now, I'm more interested in what I can do for _you_."

Bradshaw's eyebrows rose. "Sorry kid, I don't know who sent you, but I don't lean to the younger ones. You're wasting your time."

Harry flashed a faint smile. "I know you don't, Mr Bradshaw, it's one of the reasons my employer chose to use your services. No, he's offering something much more valuable." He casually tossed the envelope and its contents onto the desk between them. Waiting patiently while the man quickly absorbed the details, he laced his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, not shifting his legs off the desk.

"How dare you!" Bradshaw's choked whisper broke the brief silence.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. This matter has nothing to do with my employer or his business. He stumbled onto it by accident. However, he foresees a mutually beneficial partnership rising from this, which _does_ relate to his business. One that is significantly better and more profitable than he had originally intended to offer you." His calm green eyes never moved from the distressed man's face.

Bradshaw was giving him a suspicious look, but seemed willing to hear Harry out. If he was unnerved by the unusually eloquent boy he didn't show it.

"What exactly is he offering, Mr…?"

Harry smiled faintly. "We'll avoid names for the moment, I think. What my employer is offering, is to retrieve your family for you, and make a very definite statement that you are under protection as a neutral party. Furthermore, should there be any future attempts to coerce or force your cooperation, it will be dealt with appropriately to reinforce the message."

Bradshaw settled himself on a seat in front of his desk, his face expressionless as he assessed what was being offered. "And what would your employer gain from this? And for that matter, who do you represent?"

Finally sitting up properly, Harry crossed his arms on the desk in front of him, ignoring that his feet didn't even reach the floor properly. The sight of the tiny boy in baggy clothes perched so seriously at the huge antique desk might have been comical, but the cold green eyes removed all humour from the situation.

"Nothing that would compromise your other clients or future business prospects. My employer is interested in a slightly closer relationship than you might usually enjoy with your clients." Rolling his eyes as Bradshaw indignantly opened his mouth to decline the perceived proposition, he held up one hand, palm out, and continued. "Not a sexual relationship. My employer has no use for such things at this time. What he _does_ need, is someone he can trust beyond a standard employee relationship. He has some needs that can only be addressed by someone intimately aware of his business, and he requires this person to be effectively on retainer; though as far as is possible his requests will not interfere with your existing or future work. As for who I represent, with your contacts, I assume you have heard of Vahan?"

Bradshaw quirked an eyebrow. "I've heard the name. No concrete information though. How do I know your employer can deliver what is offered? If I agree, I'm placing my business and my family in the hands of a man that I don't know can effectively protect them."

Harry leaned back, secretly pleased. "Mr Bradshaw, your reputation has been built around the rabid protection of your clients and their interests. As such, you come highly recommended, and until now this has afforded you and your family a measure of protection. If this reputation was suddenly compromised by your capitulation to blackmail, your family would be in constant danger of this situation repeating whenever someone wanted confidential information from you. Assuming you survived the initial backlash, your business would be ruined, your reputation in tatters. I'm offering you a way to not only maintain your reputation, but further it, with backup to enforce it when necessary. The benefit of this arrangement to my employer is that if you burn him, he will publically withdraw his protection, and explain why. I highly doubt your business will survive that situation." Harry fell silent, allowing the man to ponder what he had heard.

"You didn't answer my question. Your employer is still a small fish in a big pond. Can he provide what he is offering?"

Harry's cold voice left no doubt. "Yes."

Bradshaw paused for another moment, before setting his shoulders. "Alright. What do I need to do?"

Harry sat back with a slow smile that sent shivers down the older man's spine.

"A mobile phone will be delivered to you later today. Keep it with you at all times. Instructions will be texted to it. Until then, act as you would if we hadn't had this conversation, and stall. Now, tell me everything you can think of about your dealing with these people, and where your family may have been when they were taken."

* * *

><p>Harry was mildly disappointed at how easy it was to track down where the Bradshaw family was being held. A few subtle questions and a couple of pocket change bribes, and he had not only located the targets <em>and<em> their superior, but the locations for both. Shaking his head, he casually approached the office of one Anthony Michaels.

After being shown into the office by an amused and condescending man that Harry decided must be part gorilla, Harry casually glanced around.

The office was behind a bar, and while plush and comfortable, it was tacky and severely outdated. Faded carpet of indeterminate colour released the scent of old cigarettes and booze, and Harry fought the urge to sneeze. He personally found the scent repulsive. The walls were barely visible through the frames that covered it, pictures of various people doing boring things but pretending to enjoy themselves, newspaper clippings, business certificates, and assorted other memorabilia.

The desk was old and worn, but sturdy, buried under mountains of barely organised paperwork. Harry observed with amusement that it was for show, as the man he was there to see was just in the process of shutting an extremely organised filing cabinet.

Waiting quietly for the shabby man's attention, Harry allowed himself to look around subtly, practicing the "deductive observation" that he had learned from Daniel. They'd turned it into something of a game, competing for who could "deduce" the most in the shortest time possible. Daniel was better, but Harry was no slouch.

Harry had to admit, the man before him played his part well. The outdated office, overflowing ashtray, and shabby rumpled appearance made him seem to be nothing more than an overworked bar owner, a non-threat, but Harry saw past all of that. The calloused and flattened knuckles spoke of a man who spent a lot of time talking with his fists, and the faint bruises and scrapes indicated he had done so recently. The bulge of a concealed gun was nestled against his ribs, and the slightly altered gait as he moved around indicated another strapped to his leg – obviously something he wore regularly as the gait seemed habitual. Greying hair grown out and shaggy, but still holding a rough military cut shape – previous military experience but long enough ago to soften the old habits, letting him blend in better. No nicotine stains on his fingers but the scent clinging to his clothes – not a regular smoker himself, but often surrounded by them. Slightly ginger in his movements, favouring his right side – bruised or broken ribs, mostly healed. Possibly obtained at the same time as the scrapes on his knuckles. Overall, a man who was not to be underestimated.

Harry remained silent, waiting for the man to address him. He didn't have to wait long.

"What can I do for you, kid?"

Harry perched on the offered chair, gazing back calmly. "Hello Mr Michaels. I've come to discuss a problem with some of your employees."

The older man's shrewd gaze took in Harry's appearance as quickly as Harry had made his own assessments. "Oh?"

"My employer is aware that you and your associates are attempting to locate a Mr Tim Barton."

Michaels leaned back in his chair, deceptively casual. "And what makes you think that?"

Harry graced him with a withering look. "Feigning ignorance in this case will only waste time for both of us, and while I'd love to sit here and play the innocence game all afternoon, I'm sure we each have other things that need our attention. May we please cut to the point of this conversation?"

The man's lips twitched into a hastily suppressed smile. "Alright. You said there is a problem with my employees?"

Harry nodded. "I'm certain you are familiar with a Mr Bradshaw, of Bradshaw and Cohen, yes?" At his companion's nod, he continued. "Mr Bradshaw has an excellent reputation for neutrality towards his clients, as well as his devotion to protecting their interests. This neutrality is being threatened by the actions of a few of your men. As you can imagine, this would be bad for business, since Mr Bradshaw has worked for yourself, as well as many other people in our line of work. My employer was very disappointed that such a valuable resource is being compromised by thugs too lazy to do their own legwork."

Michaels raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Is that so? I'm assuming this involves Mr Barton somehow?"

Harry nodded. "Rather than respect Mr Bradshaw's neutrality, your employees have abducted Mr Bradshaw's wife and child, in an attempt to force him to reveal information on how to find one of his clients; Mr Barton, specifically. Clearly, they were overlooking the fact that you too are one of his clients, and that if their tactic succeeds in this instance, it can be effectively used to compromise you as well."

Michaels pursed his lips in irritation. "I agree with your employer, whoever that is. Their actions are unacceptable. I will deal with them, and return Mr Bradshaw's family."

Harry smiled in amusement and tilted his head slightly to the side. "My employer has an alternative proposition."

Michaels attempted to restrain his curiosity, but the tiny boy who spoke so confidently was an irresistible puzzle. "Alright, let's hear it then." He resisted the urge to light a cigarette. He wasn't a regular smoker, but he was intrigued by this scruffy child, and needed something to help him focus on the business at hand. He wouldn't though, a leftover relic of his mother's influence wouldn't let him do anything to hurt a kid, even something as simple as passive smoking.

"Bradshaw, his family, offices, and employees will be placed under my employers protection. This protection will be used to enforce and protect the neutrality from which we all benefit. What my employer requests of you, is that you allow him to make an example of the men who have caused this situation. This offer will also be extended to the other organisations that would benefit from it."

"Why shouldn't I just clean house myself, and put the word out that Bradshaw isn't to be touched?"

Harry smiled brilliantly, and Michaels felt his breath catch slightly. He didn't like kids _that_ way, but this boy would be stunning when he was older.

"Because my employer will do it with _style_."

Michaels threw his head back and laughed uproariously. He liked this kid. "Tempting. What else does he have to offer? A good showing isn't enough reason to hand over the responsibility for disciplining lazy employees, no matter how entertaining it might be."

Harry sighed lightly. "He had hoped that this wouldn't be required, but very well. Mr Bradshaw has engaged my employer on an ongoing basis, on the understanding that his neutrality be maintained and that he will not be providing client information to my employer or anyone else. His business dealings will not be interfered with in any way, but if he, his family, business or employees are threatened or coerced, my employer will be notified to deal with the issue. Now, the current situation is this. My employer will be dealing with the idiots who took Bradshaw's family, with or without your permission. Should you refuse, Bradshaw and Cohen will cease all dealings with you, your organisation, and employees. If having the best in the business blacklist you is insufficient motivation and retaliation is attempted, compromising information will be sent to all of your business rivals. Sufficient information to wipe out your entire organisation. To be clear, this agreement is universal, not specific to you. If one of your rivals is stupid enough to cross Bradshaw, you yourself may find yourself receiving some interesting files. Assuming, of course, that you are smart enough to play ball today."

Harry let the silence stretch, his cold green gaze never wavering from the hazel opposite him.

Michaels breathed out slowly. "Alright, kid, alright. Tell your boss he has my permission. I assume the word will be put out, but I'll pass it around too."

Harry nodded politely and stood, taking his leave.

Michaels called to him as he reached the door. "Hey, kid?"

Harry half turned back, his hand on the doorknob.

"Who the hell do you work for?"

Harry smiled faintly. "His name is Vahan, Mr Michaels."

Michaels blinked, and the boy was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Reputation is everything. Think very carefully before you run your mouth._

Harry paused a block away from Michaels' office, and texted the sound recording of the conversation to Bradshaw, along with instructions to prepare the files just in case. Michaels wasn't stupid, and Harry doubted that his threat would be tested, but in the event that Michaels or anyone else thought he was bluffing, he wanted to be prepared. As Dave always said, never bluff; bluffing is for yappy little pissant wannabes.

Wandering into a nearby café for a sandwich and drink - and answering the inevitable and irritating questions about where his parents were - he sent a second text to another contact. He wanted something special for this job, and Mr South always had the best toys. Chewing slowly, he absently fiddled with his phone, waiting for a response. When it came, Harry wasted no time going to the gentleman's current place of business, excitement churning in his gut.

Strolling confidently past the hulking "assistants" and "private security consultants", he entered the reception room. Understated, elegant, and carefully inoffensive, the space was deceptively pleasant; appearing at first glance to be a comfortable waiting room for business personnel. It was easy to overlook the excessive number of security cameras, the state of the art digital locks on the doors, and the stash of hidden weapons behind the wet bar. There was undoubtedly much more security than was visible, but since Harry was always on his best behaviour he'd thankfully never had reason to encounter it.

"Mr South." Harry nodded respectfully.

"Greetings," the smooth baritone swept over Harry, calm and genteel; perfectly matching the man producing it. He gestured for his assistants to go, leaving him alone with the small boy.

Harry had first met Mr South while he was running with Mike. His quiet manner and obvious skill and intelligence had impressed the older man, and it had been an uncharacteristically short period before he allowed Harry to deal with him without Mike or Dave present. It could even be said that the man had a soft spot for the little boy; though nobody was foolish enough to _actually_ say it. Mr South's employees were known for their discretion, and not just because they preferred to keep their tongues attached.

After Harry had returned to the Dursleys, he had met with Mr South on a semi regular basis, running odd jobs to earn some extra cash, or posing as his grandson when the gentleman had determined a cover was necessary for whatever reason. After one memorable and particularly messy incident where Harry had shot a client who thought to dispose of the smooth arms dealer – saving the man's life – Harry had become something of a favourite. The man had never expressed it, but he viewed the lad as a friend, or perhaps a distant nephew.

To date, he was the only person who knew that the scruffy little boy with no name was actually Vahan and not the employee he pretended to be, as well as the origin of the name. To say he was impressed by the skill and accuracy Harry had displayed that night – he'd seen the aftermath first hand – would be a massive understatement. In fact, he had every intention of recruiting the boy when he was older. He would make an excellent successor.

The older gentleman extended a perfectly manicured hand to Harry, his immaculate black pinstripe suit, charcoal shirt and silver tie shifting flawlessly on his elegant form. He offered a rare smile. An observer might not have noticed the faint movement at all, but to those who knew the man, it was the equivalent of a beaming toothy grin. He had aged extremely well, gracefully frozen at an indeterminate age between forty five and sixty, and the people who'd had long term dealings with him would tell you that he never seemed to age beyond that point. It had been jokingly suggested that the man must be some kind of immortal wizard, especially considering how many assassination attempts the man had survived, oftentimes without even a scratch.

"Vahan."

Harry smiled back and shook his hand professionally. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr South."

"I am always happy to see my most unique client. What can I help you with today?"

"I'm branching out into protection. My client needs a statement made, and I was wondering if you had anything new which might help me with that?"

"As a matter of fact, I was going to call you in to have a look at some new toys. I think I have just the thing you need. Follow me." Turning gracefully on his heel, he made his way to a discretely concealed door at the back of the room.

Harry followed the older gentleman out of the welcoming lounge, down the hallway, and into the large storage room. The walls to each side were filled with boxes of various goods and accessories, each neatly packed and carefully arranged. The back wall was covered in mounted displays, and a waist height glass display cabinet in front of it showed off the newest offerings. A large metal table filled the centre of the room, and on this rested a beautiful piece of shiny that made Harry's verdant eyes gleam with as much lust as a nine year old can muster.

"Oh," he breathed softly, excitement betrayed by the faint trembling in his thin body. "Is that a crossbow?"

Mr South chuckled. "I thought you might like it. This is the PSE TAC 10i Crossbow." He watched as Harry reverently picked it up and examined it. "Hard anodized aluminium for durability. Fully adjustable stock, 3lb trigger, fully integrated quick cock allowing reload in as little as 15 seconds."

Harry had it braced against his shoulder and was sighting down it. "Draw weight?"

"145lb, but with the quick cock integration it's reduced to as little as 4lb. It also has a scope attachment."

"It's light."

"7.8lb, but will shoot a bolt at 350 feet per second."

"Got plenty of bolts in stock, I assume?"

Mr South smirked, another faint twitch of his lips. "I thought it might be to your liking, so I laid in a few."

"I'll take two, and a hundred bolts. I'm sure I'll be requiring more at a later date."

Nodding, Mr South proceeded to show Harry a few more weapons, selling him another four handguns, six knives of various designs, ammunition for his pre-existing collection, and a box of hand grenades by the time they finished.

"Our usual method of delivery I assume?"

At Harry's agreement and payment, the two men parted ways.

* * *

><p>It was ten pm, and Harry had set up outside the target house. He'd scoped it out thoroughly, memorising the floor plan and the locations of his targets, and scouted for any surveillance or mobile guards.<p>

_Always do your recon. Going in blind will get you killed, and then where would you be?_

Sighting carefully through his scope, he lined up his shot through the open window.

Targets One and Two were sprawled on the couch, watching television. Harry mentally tsked at how oblivious they were to potential threats, and how badly they'd arranged the room to minimise them.

Loosing his bolt, he smiled when it passed through the window screen with a whisper and impaled Target One through the throat, pinning him to the back of the (perfectly hideous) floral sofa. Target Two jumped to his feet, looking around wildly for the threat while ignoring his friend as he gurgled, choking on his own blood.

Harry fought down a giggle at Target Two's bewildered expression. The night was pleasantly cool, and the sound of crickets and distant traffic made an enjoyable backdrop for his work. He wondered if he should get a pizza on his way back to the Lab afterwards.

Quickly reloading, he loosed the second bolt, catching Target Two through the eye and flinging the now dead body back into his paralysed friends lap. Jumping up, Harry crouched and sprinted silently to a new position on the other side of the house, reloading as he moved.

There were four targets, and Harry knew the next would be sleeping in the bedroom. He'd seen the paunchy man lie down earlier, and had heard the snores within minutes. Lining up his shot, Harry snorted silently, amused when the bolt went from the soft underchin and up into the man's skull, poking out the top slightly like some kind of oversized pointy metal pimple. Instantly fatal, Harry noted with a smirk. God he loved this crossbow! Maybe he could get some bolts with an exploding tip? The splatter would be _awesome_!

'_Three down, one to go.'_ He fought the urge to hum in contentment.

One more shift of position, and Harry's good mood dissipated. The last target should have been in the office, but wasn't anywhere in sight. He grumbled mentally, it had been going so smoothly, too.

A quick scout around the house showed that the final target wasn't visible through any of the windows. That meant that he was in the room with the Bradshaw's. Harry bit back a curse, unloading the crossbow and stashing it and the remaining bolts under a bush. He'd hoped to avoid a face to face confrontation, but he'd come prepared, knowing it was a possibility.

Screwing the silencer onto the barrel of his handgun, Harry silently picked the lock and cautiously made his way up the hall, clearing each of the rooms as he passed. Finally making it to the room in which the hostages were kept, Harry stopped and took a deep breath.

This was it. He'd wanted to field test his skills, and now he would get the chance. Admittedly, he hadn't intended to pit his not-quite-nine-year-old self against a fully grown thug (he could practically hear Dave clucking in irritation), but hey, at least he'd get to see if he was actually any good. Silver linings and all that, right?

He winced in anticipation. This was going to hurt.

Quickly patting himself down, he checked his weapons were in place. Hunting knife on each forearm hidden inside his baggy clothes, check. Small stiletto blade in his boot, check. Garrotte wire coiled in his pocket (he really did need a better way of concealing and carrying that), check. Silenced pistol, check.

He looked at the doorframe, noting the screw marks. They'd reversed the door, making it open into the room rather than against the wall. He would have to open the door fully and enter the room before he could even see in. He was grudgingly impressed; apparently they weren't as stupid as they first appeared. Taking a deep breath, he threw open the door and dashed forward, crouching slightly.

A fraction too slow, he grunted as the door was kicked into him, knocking him bodily into the wall and jamming him between the two solid objects, the handle hitting him behind his ear. His ribs creaked in protest, forcing the air from his lungs and knocking the pistol from his grasp. He barely noticed it skidding under the bed in front of the door, too focused on trying to draw breath and blink away the black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Bloody buggering fuck that hurt!

Before he had time to recover his balance, he was grabbed by the hair and thrown into the room, landing on the floor with a thud. Looking up, he saw Target Four standing over him calmly, pointing a large handgun at his head.

Target Four was an exceptionally average man. Average height, unremarkable sandy brown hair, medium brown eyes, no distinguishing scars or marks, and bland features melding together to make a man who was completely forgettable. If Harry hadn't noticed the fighters knuckles and experienced movements, he would have completely discounted the man, dismissing him from mind immediately. Dangerous indeed.

"And who might you be, hm?" The man's voice was as unremarkable as the rest of him. He was so bland it was creepy.

"T-tiny, sir!" Harry whimpered, trying to seem as innocent and unthreatening as possible.

The thug hummed thoughtfully, staring down at the cowering child. "Nice work outside with the crossbow, by the way."

Harry had a moment of surprise before he managed to blank his expression. Fuck, how had he missed the security cameras? He could have _sworn_ there weren't any! No wonder Target Four was ready and waiting for him.

"Oh, don't feel bad. The cameras are well hidden. I watched you check, you were unusually thorough. Whoever taught you did a good job." Four sounded smug, and faintly patronising. Harry wanted to bite him.

Deciding he may as well stop the pathetic act, Harry slowly pushed himself to his feet and stood calmly. Tilting his head slightly, he eyed the older man before glancing around the room.

In line with the door was a rickety single bed with a metal frame, and a heavy recliner in the far corner. Beyond that, the room was depressingly bare. The Bradshaw's were cowering on the bed, Mrs Bradshaw tightly clutching her barely five year old son in her lap. Returning his gaze to Four, Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"Now what?"

Four chuckled. "Now you tell me who you really are, and who you work for."

Heaving a sigh and playing up his petulance, Harry crossed his arms. Slipping his fingers unseen through the slits in the seams, he wrapped his hands around the handles of his hunting knives. "Vahan," he stated flatly.

Four frowned, but before he could process Harry's meaning, Harry had pulled his blades free and lunged, scoring a few shallow but painful cuts on the older man's hands and arms before being forced back by a hard kick to the stomach. His attack had the intended effect though, the thug dropped his gun, and Harry stepped quick to kick it under the bed with his own.

Four snarled, shrugging off the wounds and stepped forward, crowding Harry back towards the corner. He kicked at him again causing Harry to twist out of the way to avoid a broken knee. Using his momentum to carry him forward, Four hooked his foot around the small boy's ankles and shoved, sending him sprawling.

Harry cursed mentally and covered his head as kicks and punches rained down on him with devastating force. He rolled, trying to get clear, and managed to partially dodge a kick that would have caved his ribs. The added force from the glancing blow helped roll him clear, and he popped to his feet, slashing at Four's legs. The wounds were shallow but bled profusely, staining the man's pants and floor a deep scarlet.

_You just need one good cut._

Harry heard Dave whispering in his head, calming him from his near panic, walking him through the anatomy.

The thug threw a right hook towards Harry's head. Had it connected Harry would have been out for the count with a severe concussion, but he simply swayed backwards and raised his blade, slashing the wrist as it swept past. Four stared in surprise as his hand became useless, tendons severed. His distraction cost him, as Harry pressed his advantage and stepped to the side, using the movement from the punch to guide the arm further past the centreline of Four's body. Twisting to drive a bony shoulder into the older man's ribs, Harry stabbed the leg next to him, knife unerringly seeking the femoral artery.

_Vasospasm can reduce or even stop the bleeding. The Ghurkers would twist the knife so that it destroyed the arterial wall and made sure they bled out. Useful trick, worth remembering._

Twisting the knife as he jerked it free, Harry ducked under the elbow being thrown at his head and jammed his second knife into his targets gut, just below the sternum.

_Hepatic artery. Not always easy to hit, but even if you miss it, you'll still do some damage._

Green eyes glittering with excitement, Harry looked into his victim's eyes and reversed the direction of the knife, dragging it down with his body weight as he sank to one knee, razor sharp steel slicing open the abdominal wall with ease.

The shocked look on Four's face might have made Harry giggle, had he not been more focused on getting the hell out of arms reach, just in case Four turned out to be one of those crazy commando types that wouldn't go down without taking you with them.

Four looked from his hand, to his stomach, then met Harry's wary green gaze. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to ask a question. As his vision darkened, he clutched at the wound, trying in vain to keep his organs inside before collapsing on the floor.

Glancing at his watch, the blood drenched child raised an impressed eyebrow. "Five minutes. I did better than I'd expected." Harry wiped his blades clean on an unsplattered part of Four's shirt, then tucked the knives away and fished his pistol out from under the bed, leaving Four's behind for whoever had the fun job of cleanup.

"Stay here. I'll be back shortly," he ordered the terrified woman, staring at her until she nodded frantically.

Walking into the lounge room, he heard a faint wheezing and choking noise. He zeroed in on Target One.

"Oh," he exclaimed softly. "You're still alive!" He blinked angelically. "Let me help you with that."

* * *

><p>Bradshaw clutched his wife and son to him, sobbing in relief. Vahan had delivered on his promise, and despite their obvious terror, they were otherwise unharmed.<p>

Peering over his wife's shoulder, he smiled gratefully at the tiny boy who had delivered them.

"Thank you."

Harry nodded stiffly, watching the reunion with an unreadable expression.

"I'll be by your office next week."

Bradshaw nodded and gently led his family into the warm home behind them.

* * *

><p>Harry limped into the Lab, carefully putting away the duffle bag with his crossbow and spare bolts. Opening it, he pulled out the plastic bag with his bloody clothes and shuffled into the laundry, tossing them into the machine and setting it to a deep wash. After a moment's thought, he stripped off his current clothing and threw that in too. He should probably burn them, but he didn't have an incinerator set up. He made a mental note to have one installed.<p>

Making his way gingerly into the bathroom, he turned on the shower and examined himself in the mirror while waiting for it to heat up.

He was a mess, but not as bad as he'd thought. He had livid black and purple bruises up both sides of his ribs, and a rounder one partially hidden by his hair where the door handle had hit him. Assorted other scrapes and bruises littered his body, evidence of the beating he'd taken before he'd managed to end the fight.

He pursed his lips, annoyed. Even taking into account the age, size, and experience difference, he was unimpressed with his performance. The margin of his victory was too small to be acceptable.

Stepping under the shower, he carefully washed, gently soaping and rinsing off. He grunted in pain when he raised his arms to wash his hair, tender ribs protesting, but he persisted, washing the messy raven locks twice just to prove a point.

Drying off, he hunted around for some spare clothes. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he managed to dig out some rags he'd meant to throw out. Dressing reluctantly in threadbare and hole ridden boxers and a similarly ratty shirt, he tossed his freshly washed clothes into the dryer before slipping into the cot bed, pulling the light blanket over him. It was insufficient for the weather, but it was all he had. When he'd furnished the house, he hadn't anticipated spending much time in it, so had kept to the basics, not wanting to waste money on things that would be lost when the lab was eventually discovered.

Shivering, he huddled in a tired and miserable ball and drifted into a restless sleep.


End file.
